


dearest, darling

by cupofkey



Series: drabble requests [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff and Humor, M/M, One Shot, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkey/pseuds/cupofkey
Summary: It's been a long day at work; Francis and Arthur shed their disguises and attempt to relax.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Series: drabble requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822141
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	dearest, darling

**Author's Note:**

> here are some stubborn husbands in love <3 feel free to send me more requests on [tumblr](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com)!

The moment the hotel door closes, Arthur heaves off about fifty pounds’ worth of clothing and equipment and padding, almost all of it landing right on Francis and the atrocious sneakers he’s had to wear all day.

“Fucking hell,” Arthur mutters, his head somewhere in the baggy hoodie he’s trying to shuck off.

“Not even an apology?” Francis huffs. “You just dropped everything on my feet.”

“I think you can handle it,” Arthur says, grumbling, the sleeves flailing comically as he squirms. “You’ve been walking around looking like that all week, after all.”

Francis gasps. “No. You  _ didn’t _ say that.”

“Yes, I did,” Arthur deadpans, finally peering out from the hem of the hoodie. “Let’s go to bed, please. I’m shattered.”

“Dear, you’ve just committed a cardinal sin, you can’t possibly—”

Arthur holds up a hand, turning and rolling into the bed face-first, leaving the rest of his clothes in a trail on the floor that couldn’t be less sexy. Francis just sighs and dips into the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, to his chagrin, Arthur is a little too correct for his own good.  _ That hair dye turned my hair into what may be the ugliest shade of brown I’ve ever seen, _ Francis finds himself thinking. _ I look like I tried to become a redhead and failed miserably.  _

Combing his fingers through frizz and hair gel is an incredibly uncomfortable experience, and it somehow makes everything look even worse as he does so.  _ My god, it’s like earthworms on my head. _

“It’s not permanent, just temporary,” Francis mutters to himself, dipping down to rinse out a particularly crunchy mass of hair gel. “Temporary. It’s washing out right now.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Arthur yells, his voice raspy, tired.

“Come help me wash this out,” Francis calls back.

“I’m asleep.”

“Dearest, darling—”

“No.”

Francis sighs and tilts his head the other way to get the other side. “Be glad I’m not taking a full shower, will you?”

“Francis,” Arthur says, muffled like he’s pressing his face into a pillow. “This is your job. How on  _ earth _ are you not used to getting in disguise?”

“I’m perfectly fine getting into a disguise,” Francis says. “I just don’t enjoy being disgusting.”

“Oh, piss off, will you,” Arthur grumbles. “You just had to dress sloppy. I could barely move, it was so heavy.”

Francis gasps loudly. “I had to dye my hair, you understand that?”

“Yes, yes, your gorgeous flowing locks, your radiant blond mane. Can we  _ please _ go to bed.”

Francis looks up at himself in the mirror, now looking a bit more like a rat that went for a swim rather than an overzealous skater, which can’t be much of an improvement. Still, Arthur’s waiting— besides, they have a bottle of wine purchased on HQ’s tab, just  _ waiting _ to be sipped— so Francis gives his head a quick towel-dry and leaves the bathroom.

The room is dark, save for the winking city lights outside, and Arthur is an indistinct lump in the bed.

“Are you asleep already?” Francis says, gingerly changing into normal clothing.

Arthur snorts. “No. Was listening to you be pissy about your hair.”

“There’s that bottle of wine,” Francis remarks, “if you’d like to stay awake and listen to me  _ be pissy _ for a little longer.”

“Oh, sounds absolutely wonderful,” Arthur snarks, but he still rolls over and sits up anyway, shadows on darkness playing over his face.  _ As expected. _

So Francis grabs the bottle and unscrews the lid, settling into bed next to Arthur, a nice Bordeaux in one hand and his husband leaning against the other. He takes a couple sips, passes the bottle to Arthur. It’s warm. It’s dark.

_ This is nice. _

“This is horrid,” Arthur mutters. “I hate red wine.”

“How sweet,” Francis says dryly. “And here I was enjoying your company.”

“Very kind of you.”

Francis takes another sip, setting the bottle between his legs before turning to Arthur. “We haven’t had much alone time, have we?”

Arthur shrugs, staring out at nothing in particular, his hair sticking up just a little in the back. “We’ll have next month off, I suppose. And I’ll try to negotiate the month after with HQ if I can.”

“Well, that’s very kind of  _ you, _ ” Francis coos, slinging an arm around Arthur and planting a kiss on him. “I love you. Even though you didn’t help me with my hair.”

Arthur, predictably, doesn’t say anything— rather, his face starts to burn up against Francis’s palm—

“Arthur, are you blushing?” he dares to whisper.

“It’s the bloody wine,” Arthur mutters back.

“Dear, you had two sips.”

Silence.

“You know we’re married, right?” Francis says, leaning closer, burying his face into Arthur’s  _ very warm _ neck. “We live together. I tell you I love you daily.”

“Well— well—”

“Well?”

Arthur deflates into a weak-sounding huff, leaning further into Francis. “Screw you. Just give me the damn bottle. We have three whole debriefs tomorrow, and I clearly don’t hate myself enough right now.”

“Three?” Francis says, astounded. “I thought there was just the one?”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur grumbles, snagging the bottle, swinging his leg over Francis as he does so.

Francis relishes in the feeling of their bare legs tangling easily, finding himself smiling—  _ really, how long have we been together now? _

_ Good to know I still have it. Good to know he’s still... _

“You better not be thinking something insufferably smug,” Arthur says.

Francis laughs. “So what if I am? Come on, give me the bottle. We’ll suffer through those debriefs together.”


End file.
